


Cowboy Up

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4519812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he’d had to lay odds on whether he was more likely to win the lottery or attend Fox Mulder’s bachelor party, he would have started researching investments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cowboy Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dashakay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashakay/gifts).



> Timeline: Revival speculation  
> A/N: Dashakay asked for fic based on the speculation that the bar scene is Mulder’s bachelor party. Here you go, D.  
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Busting his balls on a mechanical bull was not something Walter Skinner had expected to do.

Not again, anyway. 

He had spent a lot of time in bars after the war, and most of those memories were hazy, but something about this felt familiar. Maybe it was just the effort of riding herd on Mulder and Scully all those years that made straddling a bucking barrel feel so effortless. Maybe it was all the beer, which was surprisingly effective for cowboy bar pisswater. Either way, he was about ten seconds away from setting a new record. He gritted his teeth and hung on.

“Yeah, Skinman!” Mulder shouted, raising his beer. 

Mulder was the whole reason they were in this goddamn bar to start with, and Skinner hadn’t expected that, either. If he’d had to lay odds on whether he was more likely to   
win the lottery or attend Fox Mulder’s bachelor party, he would have started researching investments. But here he was, belly sloshing, thighs burning, one hand clenched around the horn of the saddle of this stupid mechanical bull as Mulder and his hacker friends looked on and cheered and drank. 

“Damn, Walter, that’s a new record!” Mulder said, whistling. 

“Great,” Skinner shouted back. "Turn this thing off.“

"No can do, Skinman,” Mulder said cheerfully. "Just let go!“

There wasn’t anything about any of this that wasn’t a bad idea. Skinner closed his eyes and unlocked his cramping fingers from the saddle and let himself be flung onto the padded floor. He landed with a grunt. His back was going to feel that for the next week, to say nothing of his knees. 

"I’m too old for this,” he grumbled, levering himself up from the floor. 

“We’re all too old for this,” said Frohike, holding out a leather-gloved hand. Skinner took it and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. 

Skinner had never been exactly sure what the deal was with the Lone Gunmen. He suspected that two of them had fake identities - Melvin Frohike seemed too outdated to be real, and there was more than a taste of irony in a paranoiac sharing a name with CIA headquarters. Byers was no pseudonym, though; the man was too earnest to introduce himself with anyone else’s name. 

“Live it up, Skinman,” Mulder said. He was grinning like an idiot. "We all know I’m never going to have another bachelor party.“

"I’m still not sure how you managed to have a first one,” Skinner grumbled. 

“Just lucky, I guess,” Mulder said smugly, but his eyes were full of moony, blissed-out disbelief. 

“You should have gone with my proposal idea,” Frohike grumbled. 

“If he’d taken your advice, he’d be having a pity party right now instead,” Langly told him.

“Women love the classic ring in champagne,” Frohike insisted. "It never fails.“

"Yeah, that’s why you’re still living with us,” Langly said. "I’m getting another beer. Anybody else?“

"Just get a pitcher,” Skinner said, handing him a twenty. "We’re going to need it.“ 

"I think it’s all very romantic,” Byers said. He was the designated driver for the evening, a role Skinner suspected he was well-versed in. Byers sipped a soda and wore a suit and stood out like a sore thumb in a bar full of tight jeans and big hats. "Who would have guessed, all those years ago, that you and Agent Scully would be getting married?“

Mulder smirked. "I think one or two of us might have had an inkling.”

“Or three,” Skinner said, trying to keep the dour edge out of his voice. Mulder thumped him on the shoulder. 

“We appreciate your discretion all those years, Walter,” he said. 

“Cut that out, you smug son of a bitch,” Frohike said affably. 

“Cut what out?” Mulder asked. He still played the innocent as well as he had twenty years before, Skinner thought, which was to say it would have been more convincing if he hadn’t still had that smirk in his eyes. Skinner picked up his glass and drained it. 

“The cat in the cream expression,” Frohike told him. "Believe me, we all appreciate the charms of the lovely Agent Scully.“ 

"Some of us more than others,” Langly said, rolling his eyes and setting the pitcher on the table. Frohike refilled his glass and then Mulder’s. Skinner refilled his own. 

“I for one wish you all the best,” Byers said, raising his glass. "To Mulder and Scully. May you have a long and happy life together.“

"To Mulder and Scully,” they all echoed, clinking their glasses together. 

“Oh, hey, I like this song,” Mulder said, brightening. Skinner squinted at the jukebox, as if that would help him decipher the lyrics.

Langly scoffed. "Since when do you listen to country music, Mulder?“

"Spend some time undercover in Goochland County and see if you can get tickets to the symphony,” Mulder said. "I had a lot of time on my hands. I even learned the dance. If we’d had YouTube in 1989, I probably wouldn’t have even ever discovered the X-Files.“

"Life without the X-Files,” Frohike said. "Huh. Hard to imagine.“

"Scully would be director of the FBI by now,” Mulder said, his voice fond. 

“I could have retired early,” Skinner grumbled. 

Mulder was tapping his toe on the floor. "You know what, I’m gonna go dance.“ 

"Please god no,” Skinner said, raising his eyes to the heavens, but Mulder was already gone, tipsily shuffling his boot-scooting way across the floor in his dress shoes and his jeans. They all watched in half-horrified silence. Frohike lifted his beer to his lips and kept drinking until it was gone. Skinner winced. "Tell me we aren’t expected to participate in this madness.“

Langly shrugged. "Do we look like we go to a lot of bachelor parties?”

“Point taken,” Skinner said. 

“Those two crazy kids,” Frohike said softly. "Never thought they’d actually pull this off.“

"I know,” said Skinner. 

“I never thought she’d actually say yes,” Langly said. "Mulder’s the romantic one. I figured if it hadn’t happened by now, it was never gonna happen.“

"They’ve both been through so much,” Byers said. "It’s wonderful that they managed to find some kind of happy ending.“

"Only took twenty years,” Langly said. "No thanks.“

"Better than twenty years and no happy ending,” Frohike said meaningfully. 

Skinner sighed. "Tell me about it.“

"Still, I’m happy for the bastard,” Frohike said.

“Got to be,” Skinner mumbled into his beer. "Can’t dance and it’s too wet to plow.“

"You’re telling me he can’t dance,” Langly snorted, and they all watched Mulder kick and stomp in comfortable silence.

“And we’re gonna have to go through this all over again at the wedding,” Frohike said softly, reaching for the pitcher.

“With slow dancing,” Langly said with disgust. "I hope there are hot bridesmaids.“

"Shut up, Langly,” Skinner said kindly. To his surprise, Langly clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’re all right, Skinman,” Langly said. "We’re all gonna be all right.“

Frohike lifted his glass and tilted it toward Skinner. "Here’s to us. There’s so few of us left.” 

“Amen,” said Skinner, and clinked his glass against Frohike’s.


End file.
